


Children, Daleks, and Mopeds: How Gwen Cooper Got Her Groove Back

by Paycheckgurl



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: (despite the dark start), (mentions) - Freeform, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Adoption, Audio Series 05: Aliens Among Us, BAMF Gwen Cooper, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Episode: Revolution of the Daleks, Eventual Fluff, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gwen Cooper & Jack Harkness friendship, Gwen-centric, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Original Character(s), Post-Aliens Among Us, Post-Series 04: Miracle Day, Why Gwen Cooper has a son suddenly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28557450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paycheckgurl/pseuds/Paycheckgurl
Summary: Following a disastrous shopping trip that put her at the center of an explosion, Gwen finds a little alien boy.Or: The series of events in which Gwen acquired another child, had a much needed conversation with Jack, bought a moped, defeated a Dalek with a boxing glove, and learned that loving yourself and saving the world don’t need to be mutually exclusive.A coda to Revolution of the Daleks where I explain why Gwen has a son all of a sudden.
Relationships: Gwen Cooper & Jack Harkness, Gwen Cooper/Rhys Williams
Comments: 55
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

Gwen Cooper would swear up and down she didn’t go looking for trouble. Anyone that knew her would in response, roll their eyes, and say no, she absolutely did. Gwen had the curiosity of a cat, and unbothered bravery of a lioness. This time though, this one time, she was meant to leave well enough alone. 

Torchwood. Bloody Torchwood had gotten her possessed and replaced by an alien. It had nearly destroyed all of her relationships — and worst of all: gotten her mother killed. There would not be a day that went by where Gwen wouldn’t think about the fact that Mary Cooper should still be alive. 

Gwen knew damn well she deserved better than having her life ripped from her. Rhys deserved better.  _ Anwen  _ deserved better. And she was going to spend every moment she could with her beautiful baby girl. Every moment with her and away from  _ Bloody Torchwood.  _

She’d always love the ones she lost. Tosh. Owen. Ianto. But now it was about building herself up and refusing to settle. About making up for what was almost lost. What was lost. About loving herself and loving the ones around her. Rebuilding the family that had been broken while she’d been unable to reach out as a poor imitation nearly destroyed it all. Now she was healing and focusing on herself and her family. 

Well she had been but...

There had been an explosion at Saint David’s, the self proclaimed biggest shopping centre in Cardiff. The designer purse store, the one that only existed to sell women garish bags with the store logo plastered all over them as a status symbol, was probably the perfect hiding place for a race of aliens that had installed themselves as a local mob cartel. And the perfect place for a melt down that was completely and totally...Torchwood. 

Gwen just happened to really like the boots sold at the shoe store next door. She took every opportunity for family time these days. So of course Rhys had been there too. And Anwen. On her shopping trip to buy some more bloody boots. 

When she felt the tremor of the explosion and saw the light and heat, she’d jumped in action. Rhys got Anwen out of the building, but not before grabbing a stray mother and her child to get them out as well. He sent her a text, and informed her he’s called in the explosion. First to the police, and then with what Gwen could only imagine had been a very belabored sigh, to Jack. Gwen just counted her blessings that she was spared that particular phone call. 

She surveyed the scene. She didn’t have to. Of course she didn’t have to. The new team Torchwood, a team that no longer included her, would soon be here soon. The police, maybe with Andy at the helm, would be here. But there was danger. And Gwen had instinct and a sense of duty, retired and working on herself or not. That instinct took over and she was looking for those that had been unable to evacuate. And then it’d led her to take a look inside the charred remains of the store that had been at the center of the blast. 

The police had trained Gwen never to disturb a crime scene. Torchwood had taught her  _ bollocks to that _ .

There were bodies behind the register. Nonhuman. Gwen recognized the species immediately and grimaced. The Sorvix had taken quite the foothold in Cardiff. Installing themselves in high society and local political arenas (disguised of course, but those in the know knew, and those in the know hadn’t really bothered to hide who exactly they were protesting). 

She looked at the blown up knapsack that had been behind the counter. A device that helped Sorvix blend in with a glamor. Stored next to a melted laptop and a phone battery. So this hadn’t been an intentional act of terror, the way several other events in the city lately had. Someone had simply been careless in where they stored flammable materials. 

Gwen found herself entering the back room. 

Her first thought was that there had been too many bodies for it to be just workers. No shop kept that many workers at a time. Her second thought was that one of the bodies had been too small. Her breath caught. The little green girl covered in scales was the size of Anwen. 

There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, as she felt herself kneeling beside the body. The Sorvix were known for  _ eating  _ other species. This child may have been kept in the back room as their  _ snack.  _ If they’d hadn’t been caught in this explosion they would have wound up in a Sorvix digestive tract. She felt a wave of fresh, hot, anger. She was a child. An Innocent. No one deserved this. No human. No alien. But least of all no  _ child.  _ She couldn’t help but think of Anwen. _Anwen_. Anwen was safe, she told herself in that moment. Anwen was safe with Rhys outside. 

She willed someone, anyone to come and take care of the scene. Andy. Orr and Mr. Colchester. Even at that moment, Jack. But it was just her and the bodies, and the little girl that she was too late help. 

And then she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. There was a little boy hunched behind an inventory cart. It’d fallen over on him. Onto his leg, and his arm, which seemed a bit twisted in the moment. Bruised. But he was breathing. Alive. 

He wasn’t human, she could tell. But he could pass for it, if not for the fact his complexion was practically a pale shade of blue. A very pale shade, maybe he could claim to be someone with some rare form of albinism or with a pallor due to a lung condition (to people unfamiliar with those conditions, anyways). Gwen put him at about four, maybe five in Earth years, although she wasn’t sure how his species aged. There was a mop of dark hair on his head that stuck up every direction. 

Her first thought was to move the cart. Get it off him. Her second had been to scoop him up and get him moved away from the horror show around them. 

“It’s okay sweetheart,” she said. “I won’t hurt you. I promise. Just come with me. That’s it...” 

He let her hold him, and before she knew he was practically clinging to her jacket. She carried him outside the mall, and saw the various paramedics driving forward. The police cruisers in the distance. She placed him on the sidewalk to sit. 

He looked up at the sun and squinted, moving his hand over his eyes. There were still a lot of clouds (it was Cardiff, after all), but it occurred to her that maybe this was his first time outside in a very long time. The squinting intensified and he scrunched up his little face. 

She looked down at him. Maybe he had parents . Parents who were missing him. Maybe he didn’t and all he’d ever known was the inside of that terrible little back room, watching more people come in only to not come back out. The flash of anger and sick feeling at the bottom of her stomach returned. 

Julsopisan, she thought. She’d met a Julsopisan woman once on the job who’d worked at a pub on the edge of Splott. She’d been exceptionally pretty (Gwen had certain caught herself looking twice). It had been a simple interview to find out if she’d seen a certain customer come through (she hadn’t). The woman had the same kind of complexion. Margret she’d been called (pretty Margret with the platinum hair). Jack had told her the species later. That Marget was the survivor of a ship crash, and he’d set her up with the job. 

“Does this hurt?” she asked, as she placed a hand on his arm. 

He didn’t respond verbally, but didn’t seem to cry harder or wince as she traced her fingers across the arm. Not twisted out of place as she’d thought, she decided. It’d simply been at a bad angle under the cart. She looked at his elbows. Possibly a bit double jointed, and naturally bent inwards. That’d explain it. 

She moved onto the leg which she could tell was bruised purple against his too pale skin. He winced as she traced it. And let out a little scream. 

“Sorry honey, sorry, sorry,” she soothed. “You must have hurt that one. Don’t think it’s broken though, but maybe A & E can check it over.”

The wayward little boy tugged at Gwen, and clung to her just a bit harder. 

“Do you have a name, sweetheart?” she asked. 

He looked at her with bright gray eyes, but offered no response other than some tears welling up.

“Can you speak English?” she asked. 

She was met with radio silence. 

Gwen tried “ _ do you speak Welsh?”  _ (not that she’d have the best handle on the situation if she got a “ _ yes”  _ in response to that), a probably comically mangled attempt at  _ “do you speak galactic basic”  _ (she’d have even less of a handle if she got a  _ “yes”  _ there), and finally one of four phrases in British sign language she’d learned during a police seminar ( _ “do you sign?” _ ). He’d simply watched her hands with big confused eyes. 

“Alright, so you don’t speak.” 

He let out a little squeal. “But you do still have a nice set of lungs on you, that’s good to know.” 

He squinted again, burying his head into her jacket. 

She looked down at him and didn’t even notice when Rhys approached. 

“Gwen! Who’s this then?” 

“Mommy!” called Anwen. 

“Anwen. Anwen sweetheart. This little one was hurt. We’re going to wait for the paramedics to get here.”

Which really now that she checked him over, maybe wasn’t as immediately necessary as she’d thought. The leg might have been sprained, but it was more likely the leg was tender where the bruises were. Still, he was at least a little hurt, and she didn’t want to even begin to think of what the conditions he was being kept in had been. 

Rhys looked at his complexion. “Gwen is he not...not fully...you know....”

“No. He’s not,” she glanced between herself, Anwen and Rhys in an attempt to convey ‘not human’. “He’s a bit...special.” 

“Well maybe because of the way he’s...special...we should make sure special people care for him. I called Jack…”

“Is Uncle Jack coming?!” asked Anwen. “I haven’t seen him since my birthday!” 

“No. No we’re not seeing your Uncle Jack,” said Gwen. Even if the team was on their way. Maybe were on their way. It occurred to Gwen that they didn’t know about the alien bodies in the back room yet. Or what had caused the explosion in the first place. Wouldn’t know until either they saw it themselves or the police did. Maybe Jack had gotten the call and decided to leave it alone until it was clear he was needed. Maybe Torchwood wasn’t coming at all. 

Anwen looked down at the little boy, and simply began to ramble at him. “Uncle Jack...well he’s not really my Uncle we just call him that. He used to work with my mom. Mom and Uncle Jack help people for their job. You’re really lucky she found you! She’s a police officer that does special ops. That means she gets to help with things normal police officers don’t. Well she used to be a police officer. She said she’s retired now which means she just hangs out at home all the time.” 

The boy looked up at Anwen with his big wide, gray eyes. Gwen wasn’t sure how much he actually understood, but he seemed, well maybe not calmed, but definitely taken by her. 

There were a lot of paramedics coming out, but there had been a lot of people in the mall. More victims needing checking then there had been available paramedics. She considered calling them over. She considered pushing to the front of the line. And then she considered otherwise. 

Maybe Rhys was right. Maybe they’d take one look at him and refuse him help. She knew next to nothing about his species other than the fact they were humanoid. Maybe his vitals would read differently and any attempt to help could potentially hurt him instead. That was the last thing he needed. 

In that case she’d need an expert opinion. She’d need Jack. 

Maybe Gwen was going to stop avoiding her best and most valued friend one of these days on her quest for self love and closure. Especially when it was becoming clearer and clearer that in this very specific scenario she found herself hurdling head first into, she very much needed him. 

This was very easily solved. One phone call. Rhys called Jack earlier. She could call again now with the updated situation. Tell him what was in the mall and about the little one that needed help. But she didn’t have to do that now did she. As the little one buried his head into her jacket again, she was suddenly worried that the sun was too much. She wanted to get him away from here and possibly inside. 

Gwen made a decision. “Actually sweetheart why don’t we go home. We’re going to patch this one up back at the house. I’ll call for help from there...if we need it. Rhys we still have Anwens old car seat in the boot, right?” 

“Huh? Yeah but…”

“I’ll call Jack...I will, but something’s telling me the best thing to do right now, is get this little guy as far from here as possible.”

“Anwen can you do me a big favor, love? Can you sit in the back with him? I don’t think he’s been in many cars before, and you’re going to need to talk him just like you were doing, and his hold his hand, alright?” 

“Okay mommy! I can do that!” 

“Rhys can you sit in the back with him as well?” 

“Just be glad I took my car this time,” he said. “Imagine if we’d taken that daft little SmartCar of yours.”

“Oh hush you, it helps me take tight corners.” 

Rhys took a seat in the back and let the boy grip his hand. 

“Oh well you have quite the grip, Dontcha? Look at that Gwen! This little guy has some strength to him. Maybe he can take up rugby one day! Or boxing.”

Gwen glanced at them in the rearview mirror. “Is that so?” 

Anwen, as instructed, had a lot to say to her new friend. She had several primary colored ponies shoved in the backseat, and began explaining their backstories.

“Poooe …. knee?” said the boy, trying the word. 

“That’s good!” said Rhys “Gwen! Gwen did you hear? He said pony!” 

“Poe knee!” he repeated. 

Gwen couldn’t help but contain the smile that spread across her face. 

“Yeah, he did.” 

She made a silent vow right then and there never to let anyone hurt him again, and to make sure personally.


	2. Chapter 2

The little boy, (Gwen really needed to come up with something to call him), looked around the house with a wide eyed expression that was somewhere between shock and uncertainty. She sat him down on the sofa and he practically sunk right into the cushion. He looked like he was about to cry as that happened and then, after a moment’s hesitation decided that no, it was quite fun. Gwen heard him laugh, and couldn’t help but break out into a large smile herself, as he purposefully sat up a bit to fall into the sofa again. 

“Ah we’ve got a big comfy sofa fan. Maybe we can get you set up some good Telly,” said Rhys. 

The boy let out a happy little screech. 

“Good lad,” said Rhys, his voice full of obvious affection. Rhys turned to Gwen. “We have antiseptic and some Band Aids in the kit you have in the bathroom cupboard. But Gwen, we should probably... _ call in an expert  _ to make sure he doesn’t have an allergy to that sort of thing.” 

“Oh you know what...maybe I can call Orr. They’re familiar with all sorts of...special individuals.” Gwen was careful to talk in code of Anwen’s benefit, not wanting to blow what little secrecy she’d managed to maintain about her job. Former job. “Given Orr’s own...special talents. I bet they know more about his...specialness than anyone.” Gwen thought about the shape shifting individual on the Torchwood team. Yeah, Orr would know how to deal with this. And they liked kids. Even better. 

“Orr’s nice Gwen, but oh dear god can I not believe I’m about to say this, I think you need to talk to Jack…at the very least he’s going to want to hear that you’re okay...”

Gwen stared down at her phone. “Jack. Right. Calling Jack. That’s...what I’m doing.” She continued to stare at the phone. 

“Gwen. We talked about how we’re going to let each other in. That was the whole point of you taking time away. What’s wrong?” 

“I just...I can’t really...can we maybe not have this conversation in front of the kids?” she prompted. 

She found herself dragging him into their bedroom. He stood in silence waiting for her to say something. In turn she avoided his gaze; she became very interested in looking at their overflowing laundry bin. Rhys looked at her for a second before his face twisted in worry. 

“Oh god Gwen is this about... _ that?  _ Gwen, whatever that...Not You... did and didn’t do while they were possessing you...with Jack or anyone...that wasn’t you. It was your body but you were not in control of it…” 

“Oh god Rhys, no! No! Not that. Let’s just...never talk about that again. This is so just…” She ran her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath. 

“I said I was out, done with the Torchwood chapter of my life, and I’m trying to stick to it. The minute I talk to Jack I’m going to be right back in. Right back into Torchwood. We’ve been here before. And if I’m not firm with the boundaries then it was all for nothing, I’ve learned nothing, and my life is just a sad little circle of the same patterns that I can’t break.” 

“Gwen when have you ever had a problem telling someone, especially  _ Jack,  _ what’s-what? You told him you’re done, you’re done. You’re just… a civilian calling in a favour.” 

“I just, well I’ve been avoiding him, haven’t I? It was all just so...final...I…it’s a bit awkward isn’t it?” she finished lamely. 

“Wow you’re going to make me say it again, aren’t you? Really gonna make me stand in Jack bloody Harkness’ corner… Call him. You need to talk to him. Because this is sounding more and more like a conversation you need to have between the two of you. I’m going to check on the kids, just, come out when you’re ready, yeah?” 

Gwen, scrolled through to her mobile contacts. “Yeah.”

She bit her bottom lip, and dialed. For a moment she wondered if she’d get off easy with a voice message. Instead Jack answered on the fourth ring. 

“Gwen?” Jack’s voice had a hint of confusion as he answered. “Is that you? Rhys said you were at Saint David’s. Is everything okay?” 

“It is. It is me, and I’m okay that is. But I have a bit of a weird question for you. How much do you know about Julsopisan biology? Allergies to over the counter human medications, food allergies in general...you know? That sort of thing?” 

“Uh what?” 

“Right so uhhh. Recap. Sorvix glamor backpack went boom causing the explosion, I found what I’m pretty sure was a trafficking ring for Sorvix future meals dead in the back room of a designer boutique, and a survivor who’s currently on my sofa. And is also a four-ish year old Julsopisan, I’m pretty sure.” 

“Okay, so two things. First off the rest of the team is already at Saint David’s— I’m guessing by now they know about the bodies but I’ll shoot out a text just in case...would have been nice to know that earlier. Second, I’m coming over.” 

“You...don’t have to do that.” 

“Yeah...I kind of do. Be there in fifteen.”

“Wait don’t hang up…” Gwen sighed as she listened to the silence on the other end of her mobile. “You didn’t even answer me about the meds...” 

Gwen left her room, and grabbed a rag and hot water from the kitchen sink, deciding that much couldn’t hurt at any rate. 

She placed a small kiss on the boy’s forehead, and smushed his hair back.

“Alright honey,” she told the boy kneeling down, “this is going to sting a little bit at first, but I promise it’ll feel better after.” 

_ Well that metaphor feels a bit on the nose,  _ she thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Gwen and Jack actually communicate about things and Little One gets a name


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rip to consistent chapter length, this one is long.

When the doorbell rang Anwen was cuddled closed next to her new very best friend, and Rhys and Gwen sat with the kids between them. It was sweet and felt right in a way Gwen wasn’t sure she could pinpoint. Domestic. Comfortable. Like home should. 

Jack let himself in. Gwen was fairly certain she’d locked the door (having become a properly paranoid member of Torchwood...ex member... she always locked the door behind her), but then she supposed it only made sense Jack still had her damn key. 

Jack shot them the most hamfested smile he had in arsenal, and opened his mouth. 

“If you say ‘did you miss me?’ I’m shoving you right back out the door,” said Gwen before he could form the words. But there was no aggression behind it. In fact, there was a happy kind of banter there she hadn’t shared with Jack in far too long. She felt a pang suddenly, and instantly she felt even more guilty over the fact she’d been avoiding him. She tried to hide under an artificially widening smile. 

“Uncle Jack!” chirped Anwen. “I haven’t seen you forever!” 

“Well...hasn’t been that long,” said Jack, smushing her dark hair. He looked at the little blue child. “And who’s this?”

“That’s my new friend!” said Anwen. “I don’t think he has a name. Mum said we’re helping him.” 

“Ah of course,” said Jack. “Your mom is really good at helping people.” 

“I know,” said Anwen with a toothy grin. 

“Hey Kiddo,” he said, gesturing towards the boy. “I got something for you.” He produced a large chocolate bar from inside his coat pocket, and pulled the wrapper off. He offered it to him by getting on his level, and handing it to him. Jack broke off a small square and ate it himself to demonstrate it was food. The little boy hesitantly took a bite, and then his eyes lit up wide as he tasted it. 

Jack then pulled out a second for Anwen. 

“You look well, Gwen,” said Jack.

“I told you I was fine,” said Gwen as she crossed her arms. 

“Guess you did…so anyways first aid. Allergies. Let’s...talk in the kitchen.”

The Cooper-Williams kitchen looked out slightly into the living room, but was far enough away to allow for a semi-private chat. 

“Suppose I can order pizza for the kids,” Gwen mused. “Assuming there’s not a species wide aversion to lactose... _ Apparently  _ chocolate’s fine...” 

Yeah no lactose intolerance,” said Jack. “Honestly most everything’s fine, just be careful of anything with high levels of potassium. It’s minor, but for some reason bananas are known to invoke a reaction similar to eczema. Any other allergies are going to be down to the individual, not the species.” 

“Right no bananas. What’s that phrase? ‘This meeting could have been an email?’” She stared at Jack with skeptical eyes. She took the opportunity to sit down at the table, and cued him to do the same. She gave him a smile that only slightly boarded on passive aggressive.

“When we invite ourselves over, we don’t get offered tea,” she told him. 

“Uh Gwen I’ve had your tea before...I would have politely declined.” 

“Hey!”

“You forget to boil the water. On a regular basis.” 

She folded her arms on the tabletop.

“Why did you come over Jack? There’s nothing you have to say you couldn’t have said over the phone.” 

“You were in the middle of an explosion this morning and I was worried?” 

“I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.” 

“I know I just...I missed you. Alright? I miss you. It’s been months and I haven’t heard from you, and then when I finally do it’s  _ Rhys  _ and he’s telling me you’re in trouble. Sorry. I can leave if…”

Gwen sighed. “Please don’t do that.”

“Look I’m getting mixed signals here,” he said. “You haven’t exactly reached out to me. If you want me gone and out of your life, I’ll leave, I can take a hint.”

“I quit Torchwood, not our friendship you silly bugger. Although I sort of...implied that when I told you I quit, didn’t I?”

“Little bit,” said Jack. “I believe your exact words were ‘you can just keep hoping’ when I asked if I’d see you again…” 

“I didn’t mean that, not like that.” She sighed again. “You know sometimes I just get lost in the moment and don’t choose the right words. You’re my best friend, Jack, I meant it when I said I love you. That’s not going to change whether I’m chasing aliens around Cardiff or not. It’s just... _ every time _ . Everytime you pop up. The world is ending. It’s work related. There’s some kind of scheme afoot. And everytime I go running right back into it all. I’m not doing that again.”

Jack looked down at his hands. “Have I fucked up so much that our dynamic is based around Torchwood and Torchwood only?”

Gwen shifted uncomfortably. 

Jack lowered his head to the table. “That’s a yes.”

“It’s not...it’s really not completely...I wanted to reach out. I did. I just...it was so much. After everything. And I guess...I know I told you I was done, but part of me just wanted you to take the lead and I don’t know, be the one to call me. I feel like  _ I _ might have messed up a bit of I made  _ you _ feel like I didn’t  _ want  _ you to reach out.” 

She buried her head in her arms, unintentionally mirroring the same expression Jack had just made. The sides of hair (she was growing it long again) fell every which way onto her elbows. 

“You needed space,” said Jack. “You made that much very clear. And well...you weren’t yourself and it took me so long to catch onto it. I should have noticed right away. When you risked other people or went too far. When you did the things I should have known that Gwen Cooper would never do. ” 

She reached over the table and gave his hand a little squeeze. “Well you did find the way to get me back to me…” 

Jack squeezed her hand back. “I’m not going to try and talk you into coming back. What’s important is that you’re happy. You are right, happy?”

Gwen took just a second too long to answer and she could see Jack’s expression flicker with concern. But then she looked through the doorway into her living room. Anwen was teaching her new friend one of those clapping games (Ms. Mary Mack she was certain), and she felt genuine happiness. A genuine feeling of okay. 

“Yes. I’m very happy. But since this is honesty hour, maybe a little stir crazy. Need to find myself something to do. Start selling for one of those pyramid schemes that are somehow legal. Did you know my old primary schoolmate, Sarah, got one of those flash pink cars?” 

Jack laughed, rich and deep. 

“You hate pink,” he reminded her. “I have literally heard you go on a three hour rant about how it’s the worst colour.” 

“Alright, but I’m a dab hand selling. If I didn’t hate those low quality lip balms (they’re worse than what that department store we went undercover at that one time sold), I could have the neighbor ladies eating out of my hands.” 

Jack offered a hand up out of her chair, and before she knew it she was giving him a strong hug. A long, tight hug. Jack had always been good at those.

“You're my best friend too, Gwen,” he said. “I know I’m not great at expressing that sometimes or being here when you need me to but you, Gwen Cooper, are so important to me.”

She squeezed his hand again. “I do want you in my life Jack. We just can’t keep repeating the same patterns, so just promise me you’ll tell me next time you fuck off somewhere, and promise you’ll be back. And maybe...in a few weeks we can try a get together that’s just catching up? No talking shop just...us being us?” 

“I’d like that,” said Jack. 

“After all, someone’s got to spoil the kids rotten and it’s certainly not going to be Brenda...she brought over vegetables last time. The look on poor Anwen’s face…”

Jack smirked in a way that didn’t appear to be in response to Brenda Williams and her vegetables. 

“What’s that face about then?” asked Gwen with a bit of a laugh. 

“You said kids. Plural. Someone’s managed to pull at your heartstrings already, huh?” 

Gwen couldn’t fight the smile that tugged at the side of her lips. She offered Jack an arm and they linked elbows back to the living room. The kids had gotten up and were examining the framed photographs Gwen had put out on the front table. It had been meant as a celebration of friends and family, although over the years had unintentionally shifted into a bit of a memorial. She wasn’t sure she liked that — she needed more pictures of the people she still had along with the ones she’d lost. 

The boy reached for a particular photo and Gwen suddenly felt a wave panic. 

“Sweetheart don’t touch that!” Gwen called. She realized after the fact her volume may have been a bit higher than she’d intended.

“Shhh sorry,” she amended soothingly. “Honey you’re not in trouble, don’t worry. It’s just very important that we not touch that picture. It can break and we could get hurt. It’s what we call fragile.” 

Anwen looked at the picture. “That’s my Uncle Ianto,” she said matter of fact. “Mum likes that picture.” 

The Little one was very taken with the picture, starting at it closely. 

“You like that picture too, don’t you?” Gwen asked. “Anwen’s Uncle Ianto was one of my favorite people. He’s...gone now, but he...he would have liked you a lot.” 

“Yan...toe?” the boy tried, and Gwen could have sworn she felt her heart catch in her throat. She looked over at Jack who seemed just a bit frozen in place, his eyes blinked just a tad less than normal. A subtle tell, but one Gwen was way too familiar with. 

“Yeah…that’s right,” said Jack. 

“Ianto,” said the little one, with a lot more clarity this time. 

“I think,” said Rhys carefully, looking between Jack and Gwen, “we need something to call this little guy. And I think Ianto would have been honoured to be a namesake.” 

“He just likes the name...that’s all. We can’t name him that just because he’s repeating it. He’s not a Pokeman Rhys.” 

“It’s Pokemon, Mum,” said Anwen automaticity. 

“Well, he needs a name. You know I’ve always liked Edward…Anwen you would have been Edward.” 

“Dad that’s a dumb name!”

“It is not! What’s wrong with it?”

“Just is!” 

“Remember those sparkly vampire movies? Edward was the sparkly vampire, right?” Put in Jack. “The hot one.” The levity was only slightly forced. 

“It’s not going to be Edward,” said Gwen. 

“You used to like it! It is a fine name!” Rhys insisted. 

“Ianto,” the little one repeated with something akin to conviction. 

Jack watched him carefully. “I think...maybe he’s made up his mind.” 

Gwen looked up at him. “And we’re all okay with that?” 

“I think Rhys is right…only a little weird admitting that,” said Jack, “Ianto would have been honoured. Embarrassed, probably try to tell us off for it, but honoured.”

“Alright, sweetheart, would you like to be called Ianto?” 

The little boy nodded his head furiously. “Ianto.” He looked down at himself in a way that seemed to indicate “me”. 

Jack scanned the rest of the photos on the display with a little bit of a wistful look before breaking into a shit eating grin. “Middle name Owen,” said Jack. 

“Ianto Owen Williams. It does have a nice ring to it,” said Rhys. 

“Oh they both would have hated sharing,” said Gwen. The sadness that was there when she thought about her friends, her team, her brothers in arms was replaced for a second by happy memories of Ianto and Owen bickering at each other and sharing teasing jokes at each other’s expense. She liked those memories, and she wanted to think about them. 

“That kind of makes me want to do it more. But wait. Hold on. Last name. We need to talk about that. Would that make this a bit...permanent.” 

“We’ll talk about that tonight,” said Rhys. “Anyway it’s a damn good name. Meaningful, very Welsh.” 

“Very Welsh,” agreed Jack. 

“Alright then...Ianto Owen Williams it is.” 

She scooped up the newly dubbed Ianto Owen Williams into her arms and planted a kiss on his head. Rhys snapped a picture of the moment on his mobile. She wondered if it had turned out well. It’d be nice to add another picture to the front table. 


	4. Chapter 4

_A few months later..._

Little Ianto Williams was picking up words fast. His speech therapist, Dr. Smith (“call me Bryn, there’s far too many Dr. Smiths in this facility”) agreed he was doing well for a child that had experienced trauma like his (the exact nature of said trauma carefully forged and made palatable to a public that didn’t necessarily know about the extraterrestrial right under their noses). 

His regular therapist, Dr. Williams (no relation — as she was actually a disguised alien herself), called him an “absolute delight”. It’d been a relief there was someone in the city they could be honest about his full circumstances with, and that could help with a very personal perspective. Both doctors agreed he’d be ready and more or less up to speed to start his Reception year at school (with some extra assistance from an aide), although recommend he still keep up regular sessions, and keep to a few extra days of tutoring after school. 

The first day dropping him off at school had been nerve racking, but Ianto had ended up taking to his schoolmates like a fish to water, and seemed to make friends in his class fairly quickly despite still not being incredibly talkative. The other parents didn’t even question his unusual complexion, easily accepting a quick line about a minor circulation and skin issue. One of the dads, who Gwen had known previously as PC Thomas seemed suspicious but he knew just enough about Gwen and her history with Torchwood, and had just enough self preservation, not to press the issue. Ianto did well in school, and seemed to enjoy himself. 

The problem with both of the kids being in school was that Gwen was bored. Incredibly bored. And while boredom on its own would have been bad enough Gwen also felt useless. She wasn’t minding the kids, she wasn’t minding the house, and she wasn’t...helping people. During school hours she was simply just existing. 

She supposed most other stay-at-home mums busied themselves with meal prep, cleaning and hobbies. Rhys informed her point blank she was not to touch the food so that it was “actually edible”, and that her idea of dusting somehow just distributed the dust to other places. She’d tried taking up crochet; the potholder she’d tried to make ended up being a series of knots with a giant hole in it. She’d been joking about makeup sales with Jack when they first reconnected, now she was halfway tempted to actually try it. 

So, Gwen decided to join a mum group. She didn’t exactly have high expectations, but she was a mum, a stay at home one now even, and maybe they’d have some tips for dealing with the strange hole in her day. Maybe some of them knew of community projects she could take on. It seemed as good a start as any. 

At 10 am on Tuesday, Gwen found herself at the door of one Mrs. Marjorie Thomas, host of the Mothers of South Wales Luncheon Society. 

Majorie welcomed her with a too wide smile, and Gwen surveyed the other women positioned around her sofa. 

The assembled mothers all had colour coordinated and similar styles of clothes that clashed with Gwen’s preferred leather. They mostly were very blonde and the same exact variety slim (oddly slim for the ones that had to have been recent mothers—the flyer advertised it as a group of mums from newborn to ten). Their hair was all done up in the same style, and most wore matching sunglasses. They all looked similar, a bit like twins really. But there were some token brunettes and even a red head in the mix. Still. They felt off. Fake. Positively plastic. 

She walked in; they all gave her matching smiles and intoned the same “welcome”. She remembered the mission reports on the Serenity Plaza housing complex, which had been overrun with Sleeper Agents. She felt a shiver down her spine, but wrote it off as simply the effect of Mummy Club Weirdness. Maybe once she got to know them they’d be wonderful. Best not to judge the book by the cover. 

“Tell us about your children,” they all intoned. In unison. Okay, well that was incredibly creepy. 

“Oh, well I have two. Anwen and Ianto. Anwen, she’s my oldest. Ianto’s the youngest, he’s adopted, been with us for five months now ” explained Gwen. “He’s been adjusting really well, and he and Anwen get on like glue.” 

“How sweet of you to adopt,” they all intoned in unison again. Weird. Really weird. 

“So tell me about your kids then?” she asked. 

“They’re all perfect angels,” they intoned in unison. 

Gwen got a good look at their faces. The hair colour was different, but _oh god_. Each of their faces was the same face over and over again. Not make up that made them look uniform, or a similar batch of plastic surgeries, but honest to god literally the same face. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mumbled. Gwen had her suspicions as to exactly where this was going.

“Where are you ladies all from then?” 

“We’re from the Mother Planet. All Hail the Hivemind.” 

“Of bloody course you are,” she grumbled. In what had to be the most stereotypical move this lot could have pulled, they circled around her and began to move in closer and closer. “Marjorie’s” blonde hair began to shift, revealing a wig cap and a patch of green skin. 

She called Torchwood with a huff as she shoved Marjorie into her broom cupboard, and the others tried to corner her as she did. When they got there they found Gwen only slightly furious, and half of the clones incapacitated on the ground. 

After the mum group incident she’d instead taken to volunteering some hours at a soup kitchen. Nice, practical, and the food was already prepared so _no she wasn’t subjecting anyone to her cooking, Rhys._ Finally she felt like she was giving back in a way that felt productive and wasn’t overly tangled with her old life. 

Until the most poorly disguised Slitheen woman she’d ever met started appearing in the soup line. Gwen found herself at the local alien scrap shop front, begging the shop owner to give her a discount on the most overpriced perception filter tech she’d ever laid her eyes on, for the exiled Slitheen’s sake. 

“I have to make a living, Mrs. Cooper,” said the shop owner. “This technology isn't free you know?”

She crossed her arms. “Except it very much was, you just happened to pick this little rift gift up before Torchwood could.” 

“If you Torchwood people snooze, you lose.” 

“I’m no longer...forget it. What if I bought something else in addition to the perception filter? Product you actually have to make profit margins on — would you give us a discount then?” 

Henries look at her. “Well, there is the scooter behind the counter there.”

It was a nice moped scooter. Fire engine red. Sleek looking. Gwen considered.

“Fine then, Mr. Henries, I would like to buy your moped.” 

Later Rhys had only been able to shake his head. “You bought a moped.” 

“And what’s wrong with that?” 

“Love, making the vehicles smaller and smaller will not retroactively make up for the fact you lot made the hole in the ozone layer everytime you put the keys in the ignition of that SUV.” 

“This Rhys Williams, is for me. And maybe you if you want to ride along to town with me.” 

“I'm a tall sort of guy Gwen. A big sort of guy. I can’t fit on your bloody moped alone. Let alone you and me, together.” 

“Well then, I guess it’s all for me.” 

“Ah it is?” 

“And what Rhys, is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Nothing. At least consider trading the Smart Car for a proper minivan.”

“A _minivan_?”

“Well we have two kids now, only makes sense really. Practical. Just like you insisted that daft little smart car was.” 

“I am not getting a minivan, Rhys.” 

He laughed. He laughed hard. 

“Oh. Oh this rich. Gwen Cooper, In the midst of a mid-life crisis. Never thought I’d see the day.” 

“Rhys! I am not having a midlife crisis!” 

“You brought a _moped.”_

“I am allowed to have one toy for myself.” 

“Mommy has toys too?” asked little Ianto. 

“You have literally no idea how happy I am that your Uncle Jack was not here to hear you ask that,” Gwen whispered under her breath. 

She rode her moped around, sure of the fact she was absolutely _not_ having a midlife crisis. What she was having was an unusually high number of alien encounters for someone that was supposed to be bloody retired. 

Later that week, when Jack came to collect the weevil she’d shot in her front garden, he shot her a curious look. 

“I’m not doing this on purpose,” she insisted. It had been the third call to Torchwood in as many weeks. “it’s like I’m a bloody magnet for this stuff!” 

When word started going around Rhys’ workmates about a large pattern of disappearances near the local parish, and the seemingly unrelated news of the parish’s brand new angel statues, she felt the need to scream. Although, taking a cricket bat to a statue she’d blindfolded had been strangely cathartic. 

“You straight up could have called before taking on that one,” Jack accused. 

“Well it’s more efficient if I do it on my own.” 

Jack only had a skeptical eyebrow to offer her. 

That night she sat in bed with Rhys, going over the fact this was now a weekly routine. Rhys seemed to know exactly why her thoughts were racing. 

“There can be a middle ground, you know,” he told her. “Defending the world and seeing the kids off to school.”

“No, there can’t be. Torchwood just consumes everything. I’d start with a middle ground and then before I knew it I wouldn’t be home for four days straight and you’d have no idea if I was alive. I lived, through it all I lived, and I am going to keep surviving.” 

“There it is,” said Rhys. “Was wondering when that was going to make an appearance.” 

“What?”

“The survivor’s guilt you swear you don’t have.”

“I don’t have—“

“Save it, you bloody well know you do. Gwen, being the last mortal standing doesn’t have to mean anything. Sometimes it really is just random.”

“That’s worse. It means it can still be me. I set out one day, and I don’t come home. The kids lose their mother, and I leave you alone…god poor Ianto would be losing everything _again_ , I can’t do that.” 

“Well it doesn’t have to be Torchwood exactly. Look at your friend, Martha. She struck it out freelance with that husband of hers. And she has a son now, seems to be doing well from all the updates she sends you.” 

“Are you seriously arguing _for_ me taking this all up again? Seriously?!” 

“I’m so glad you’re starting to see how much you matter, how brilliant you are. But why does being brilliant have to mean you can’t do something you’re so passionate about?”

“I’m passionate about you. The kids.” 

“And you’re passionate about helping people too. It doesn’t mean you have to go running at Jack’s beck and call, and deal with all this organized alien terrorism nonsense directly. Just think about it.” 

Rhys took her into a cuddle. Her thoughts were still racing about aliens, her future, and the midlife crisis she was maybe facing, but here in Rhys’ arms with the kids in their rooms, she felt safe. 

They were having a barbecue tomorrow. She’d catch up Andy and Jack in a capacity that wasn’t related to the aliens of Cardiff for once, and instead was just a group of mates catching up and relaxing. She had plenty of time to figure out what came next, but for now, she was going to concentrate on whatever it was normal looked liked for her and her family. 


	5. Chapter 5

“Rhys these boxing gloves are full sized. He needs practice gloves. Sized to him. The kind make specially for kids. These are too big even for Anwen to use.” 

“I want blue ones,” Anwen said. “Or black ones with skulls.” 

“No skulls,” said Gwen automatically. 

“Well he’ll grow into them, won’t he? As strong as he is.”

Ianto grinned up at his father.

She shook her head and tutted. “Guess I’ll put proper kids’ boxing gloves on shopping list for later then…”

Rhys tried on the gloves and took a few practice jabs at the air. 

“We’re not encouraging the kids to use their boxing gloves anywhere but at practice. We do not hit people unless it’s in self defense.”

Rhys, to his credit, managed to hide his laugh under his hand until excusing himself to the bathroom to laugh harder. 

A week later there were explosions on Ronald Dahl Plass. Gwen was expecting a call once it was all over, and sure enough it eventually came. She looked down at her phone, and glanced at a text message from an unknown number. “Looks like I’m going on a field trip kids.” 

_ Gwen. The usual spot,  _ it read. 

The usual spot was a beach just a bit north, and a drive and a half to get to. It was scenic, very Welsh and a tad bit dramatic. So of course, Jack had picked it. 

Gwen watched as the weight in Jack’s shoulders simply sunk, as he solemnly recounted the events of the last several weeks. 

“So the Hub was blown up again, and you’re officially a terrorist,” she repeated back to Jack. 

“That about sums it up. Look this isn’t me asking you to get involved. It’s—well it’s opposite really.” 

“You’re leaving again,” she surmised. “Why do you always do this Jack?” Gwen could feel the old abandonment issues bubbling to the surface. On the one hand, he told her. That was all she asked. On the other, he was leaving. They’d finally established a pattern to their friendship that wasn’t directly tied to Torchwood and he was leaving. The hurt was probably written all over her face, and she wasn’t sure she could hide it if she tried.

“Gwen let me explain! I’m not going anywhere...well I am but, I’m coming back. I got my vortex manipulator fixed. For real this time. It’ll only be an instant for you—maybe a couple days if I don’t calibrate it right or I have to get back by other means. There are rumors, Cybermen in our section of our galaxy. If we don’t head them off—Gwen, you know what one Cyberman is capable of. Imagine a full army, at full strength.” 

The thing was she could imagine it. And it was terrifying. But she could also imagine Jack alone convinced this was duty, that he deserved to suffer just because he was unlucky enough to not stay dead. And she could imagine him stuck, leaving her alone again. Perhaps forever this time, with no explanation if he was even okay. The fact he’d technically live through whatever he’d put himself through really wasn’t much of a comfort. And she could imagine waiting to hear something, anything, and no word ever coming. 

“Four months,” she told him. “That’s how long I led the team while you were gone with the Doctor. Two years. That’s how long it was after you left me on that hilltop when I was pregnant with Anwen. For a time agent you sense of time is shite.” 

“I know,” he said weakly. “But I have to do this. I can’t exactly stay here until things are sorted with all the government agencies, I’m a bit obvious. I can’t endanger the others. And this, the Cybermen, it needs to be done.” 

He looked at her, with those piercing blue eyes of his. “Am I welcome back when it’s all over?”

Gwen’s own eyes were the size of saucers as she looked up at him, for all the pent up anger she felt, it was really fear. Fear for Jack.

“You’ll always be welcome back Jack, just remember to call me when you’re in.” 

They shared a much needed hug. 

In linear time Jack was gone for a fortnight when she got a rather frantic series of texts from Martha urging her to turn on the news. For Martha to be this pressed she knew it had to be bad. But she still wasn’t prepared for what she saw: Daleks.

She remembered the absolute terror in Jack’s eyes the first time she heard that name. The way he’d pulled both herself and Ianto Jones close and planted kisses on their heads, afraid that he’d lose them. 

“Rhys, get ready to lock the kids in,” she whispered. “I’m going to check with the police and see if I can figure out why their new security system is made up of literal killing machines.” 

Which is how she found herself at the police headquarters, in front of Andy. 

“Andy. Andy these security drones...” 

“They’re a bit weird, right? Like I swear I’ve seen the design before I just can’t...place it. And when I try to think harder about it gets all fuzzy. A bit like when you try to remember something from very early childhood. You get flashes and pictures but not much else, and even then you kind of doubt how much you're filling the gaps with things you saw in old photos and pieces from other memories. Did you...‘Retcon’ me at some point? Give me one of your little amnesia pills?” 

“No. What you’re describing isn’t retcon. It’s something else….

“And the whole concept of it...of these security robots,” He continued to rant “it’s just not effective community policing. It’s combative, practically asking for a lawsuit. The absolute last thing this city needs with all the riots and the terrorism and the aliens and the conspiracies. Let’s just ‘disperse’ the crowds with tear gas then,” the sarcasm was palatable in his voice. “Yeah that will keep the bloody peace and won’t incense the protesters even more, won’t hurt the people we’re meant to protect. It’s boarding on inhumane. Should be a violation of rights. I can’t abide by this, no one the force should. No person should, period.”

“And let me guess, good ‘ole Sergeant Davidson’ gave this same rant to the top brass,” said Gwen. 

“Got told they came all the way from above the top, the prime minister herself, they told me. And we’re implementing whether I like it or not.” 

“Oh this is not good,” said Gwen. 

“I mean I’ve had a look at them. They’re what they say they are, but something’s  _ wrong  _ about them (beyond just my moral issues with the kinds of rights violations they’re representing) and I can’t place why. It’s that...fuzziness again. Oh god. Please don’t tell me they’re  _ alien. _ Oh Christ they are, aren’t they?”

“They absolutely are. And I don’t care how non-lethal they look on the inside. These things are killers. Do what you can to keep them from as a few people as possible. This is going to backfire soon, and when it does there’s going to be a massacre.” 

“ _ Massacre?! _ ” 

“Massacre. I’m not using that word lightly. Someone once described these things to me as the deadliest creatures in the universe.” 

“Oh balls.” 

“Yep.” 

Gwen had just made it home when the inevitable happened. The Daleks turned on their human masters and began flooding the streets. 

Gwen sped on her moped. Ianto had left his boxing gloves, the things were about the size of his little head, strone about the back garden. The Dalek was approaching and she’d be damned if one got near Rhys and the kids. 

She spied one. It had locked onto to Mrs. Davies-Lewis two houses over. Gwen didn’t think before leaping into action. 

“Hey! You!” she called, speeding towards it. “Come and get me!” The Dalek spun around and saw her with the boxing gloves on. She sped towards it, ready to fight. 

She looked down at the moped, at the gas canister, an idea formed. Gwen always did fancy a good explosion. 

The phone call with Jack had been jovial. Confirmation they were both alive and managing. That everything worked. The day was saved. The relief she felt was too intense to feel guilty for enjoying the satisfaction of saving the day. 

Jack met her in her garden some time later, after being dropped off by the Doctor. Well, that explained why it wasn’t instant — she’d heard plenty of stories about the Doctor’s driving. Two weeks was still better than four months. 

“I still can’t believe you took out a Dalek with your son's boxing glove and a moped,” he said, voice was full of amusement, and his face lit up with that thousand watt Jack Harkness smile. 

“I can’t either. I’m going to miss that moped though.” 

Jack chucked. 

“Hey, I swear this isn’t me talking shop, but a little birdy has informed me that Torchwood is officially off the government’s shitlist...or at least not as high on it as we were. I think a higher power might have pulled some strings as a favour.”

“So you’re staying put then, no more alien jails and stolen starships?” 

“Only if they land in Cardiff. I have the Doc’s number now, so if anything goes lopsided well, she might make an appearance.”

“She huh? That’s new. Still a looker this time around?”

“Very much so. Cute and blonde.” 

“Damn she sounds like it.” 

They weren’t sure who reached for the hug first. Going away hugs were solem, but reunion hugs, reunion hugs were the best kind of hugs. The kids ran over and decided they wanted hugs too, simply wanting in on the circle of affection, and maybe not fully understanding how close the world had just come to ending. Good. Gwen was going to protect them from that as long as she could. 

Later that night, she was still riding the high of saving the world, feeling lighter and happier than she had in awhile. Rhys had shot her a knowing glance. “Still retired?” he asked. 

Gwen kissed him on the cheek. “I might have an idea about that, but I wanted to run it by you first…” 

It was later that week Gwen found herself in front of Yvonne Hartman, acting head of the Torchwood Institute (Yvonne Hartman previously of another universe, not to be confused with her dead counterpart from this universe — typical Torchwood really). 

“So you’re going to hire me back,” she told her. 

“Am I?” 

“Yep. But on a contract basis. I’ll work from home most days, when you need me, and do my own investigating. Kind of a private investigator type capacity.” 

“And why, Mrs. Cooper, would I agree to that? It seems this arrangement would benefit you, much more than it would benefit me.” 

“Because I am just that good. You like efficiency and there is no one who’s better at this job than I am. But I’m going to do it on my own terms, on my own hours, and be with my family most days. You can say no — but when has Yvonne Hartman ever turned down an asset that would benefit her?” 

“Mrs. Cooper, I believe we have a deal.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a multi-chapter, with some minor time skips leading up to, and just after Revolution of the Daleks. 
> 
> Canon compliant as it can be. 
> 
> Makes audio references but listening to the audios is not required to understand the story.


End file.
